Just Not Today
by QueenieLaureenie
Summary: "Did he feel the same as she did? Was lying next to her like this, pining over her emotional distance and her physical closeness, just barely preferable to napping on the back seat of the rental car?" Mulder and Scully have a heart-to-heart during The Rain King.


Hello all!

Blitheringly Tedious Preamble

Here's a fanfic three years in the making - I came across the half finished article recently while cleaning up my documents, and wondered why I had never gotten around to completing it. Then I tried to open it, and it all suddenly became hideously clear why I'd abandoned it in the first place: the file had been corrupted.

Not just a little bit either… it had transformed itself into some kind of mutant offspring of hieroglyphs and Wingdings. The entire thing - all 12 pages. The disappointment, the anger, the frustration… it all came rushing back. I remember thinking I'd start again when I'd calmed down. As is often the case with me, I then forgot.

But, like the fridge light illuminating a surprise snack, I found an old memory stick several weeks later. What should be on it, but a copy of my fanfic! It hadn't been completely up to date (I ended up losing about two pages) but it was close enough for me to keep going with it.

So here it is - my take on what happened the night Mulder and Scully had to share a hotel room in the episode The Rain King.

Despite the lengthy production period, I fear it might not be worth the three years it took me to write. However, I hope you find something of value… even if it just the harsh lesson I learned from this sorry tale: always back up everything!

Episode: The Rain King (One of my all time favourites… so much MSR, so little time…)

Short Recap: Mulder and Scully travel to Kroner, Kansas, to investigate claims that a local wastrel has suddenly gained the ability to control the weather. During the course of the investigation, a mini twister picks up a cow from a nearby field and drops it through the roof of Mulder's motel room - the motel's proprietor informs Scully that they don't have a spare room and, as such, Mulder's things had been moved into her room. They're forced to share, but we never get to see the night unfold. Cue my imagination running wild.

* * *

**Just Not Today**

(Or Thunder, Lightning, and Flying Cows)

Practicality was something that had always come very easily to Dana Scully; while she could appreciate the fripperies of life, she often went with the bare minimum. Her lifestyle just wasn't built for such things and, generally, she was okay with that… but even she had her limits.

One of those limits was a little bit of privacy, something she would have to sacrifice tonight because a flying cow tried to flatten her partner. Oh, God, how was **that** going to look on her field report? She sighed, hoping she'd be able to word it more sanely when it came time to put events to paper.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob to her cheap motel room at the Cool View Motor Court. _Cool View_, her ass - more like a view of the car park, and a guy across it that didn't seem to like wearing clothing or shutting the blinds. It also wasn't _her _motel room… not anymore. It was _theirs_.

A shiver ran down her spine as she touched the cold metal - what was it? Fear? Dread? … Anticipation?

It was hardly the first time they'd been forced by necessity to be in each other's personal space. Far from it (though sharing a motel room was definitely new).

So why did this seem different? Perhaps it was the fact that this was their first 'close encounter' since their almost-kiss... before that damn bee interrupted. It had been the first solid acknowledgement they had mutually made of their feelings, and now… now sharing a motel room felt a hell of a lot less platonic than it would have before.

Was it even possible, she thought, to lie next to him knowing he loved her? That he wanted her? That he'd travel to the literal end of the Earth to save her? She knew that before the almost-kiss, of course, but the ghost of his breath across her lips made it real somehow. Things hadn't been the same since. Every touch, glance and term of endearment held a new weight - anecdote turned to evidence.

And, stood outside the motel room door, Scully felt like she was standing on the very edge of a precipice, millimeters away from falling… or soaring. She took a steadying breath and turned the doorknob.

"Next flight out is ten o'clock tomorrow morning." Scully grimaced as she entered the motel room; Mulder had wasted no time in making himself comfortable, she noted, spreading himself across _her _bed as if he'd never had a room of his own.

"Look at this, Scully." He started, plucking a newspaper off the bed and waving it in her general direction, "September 20th, 1991 - it rained rose petals for nearly an hour."

"Mulder, we're going home." She began, "The rain stopped this afternoon. Daryl Mootz is being sued by about 50 people. There's no case." She wandered across to the bedside chair, observing the litter of papers that now populated his side of the bedroom – Surveying the detritus encroaching on her space, she decided it probably was for the best that they didn't have to do this very often. If they did, she might have to give up carrying a gun, lest it end up waved in his face for leaving the toilet seat lid up. "And you told Sheila yourself that she wasn't controlling the weather."

"She's not. Neither is Daryl. Check this out," Mulder explained, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. Scully groaned internally, praying that he'd get all this out of his system quickly so she could forget about rain kings and flying cows for the night and read a book instead. God knows she needed a distraction to quell the nerves in her stomach, and talking work was just turning her anxiety into a fight response.

She leaned in to read the article he was so enthusiastically presenting. He continued, "On the same day that it rained rose petals: 'Irene Hardt, beloved wife, and devoted mother passed away yesterday afternoon... She's survived by one son, Holman Hardt.'"

"Oh, so, now you're saying that Holman Hardt-" She started, feeling the exasperation rise in her chest.

"Holman Hardt is manufacturing the weather. Did you see how relieved he was when he learned that Daryl was drunk?" Mulder interrupted eagerly. Scully felt her patience tear, rubbing her forehead with her palm and muttering an expletive beneath her breath. Mulder, unperturbed, leapt to his feet and bounced to the dresser. "I've been doing some checking. Holman Hardt has been hospitalized five times with nervous exhaustion, each time coinciding with a major meteorological event."

"Mulder, it is still a huge leap to say that he's manufacturing the weather!"

"Most people will admit that the weather plays a significant role in the way they feel, right? There's even that disorder." He continued, trying desperately to talk her round by speaking her language.

"SAD - seasonal affective disorder." She confirmed, still unconvinced. He hummed in agreement.

"Yeah. Well, who's to say that it doesn't work the other way around - that the way someone feels can affect the weather... that the weather is somehow an expression of Holman Hardt's feelings." He continued. Scully sighed, trying her best not to roll her eyes, as he carried on completely unconcerned by how close he was to getting a slap in the face. "Or-or-or better still, the feelings that he's not expressing?"

Scully felt her patience snap under the weight of his conviction, her eyebrows raised in complete disbelief at his latest classic theory. She remained silent for a few seconds, trying to come up with a way to tell him what she thought without it involving violence.

"Mulder?" She started. He grinned eagerly, clearly hoping for an ally for his new idea.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." She stated flatly. His boyish smile dropped instantly.

"Why?"

"It's a quarter to eleven," Scully clarified, getting to her feet and making for her travel bag, "I'm tired and feeling like I'm on a bit of a wild goose chase here. Can we just quit it for tonight?"

"Sure, Scully. Your room, your rules." He replied courteously, watching her fumble through her holdall over his shoulder.

"And while we're talking about that," Scully interjected, gesturing towards him with the end of her hairbrush, "if we _are_ going to do this, which I kind of suppose we have to, there needs to be a few ground rules."

Mulder felt himself balancing on very thin ice and decided to acquiesce to whatever demands she issued, fearing he could very well end up being thrown out on his ear if he rubbed her up the wrong way tonight.

To his eternal disappointment, Mulder had come to the conclusion long ago that any kind of rubbing up was totally off the cards when it came to Scully. The consummate professional in her wouldn't allow it, and, despite how he felt, he respected and honoured her choice. Well... most of the time. Just occasionally, the shred of hope in him couldn't resist giving her a tiny push - be it a sweet, romantic gesture, or a completely vulgar but flirtatiously charming sexual quip. She seemed to find the latter amusing, though he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

"I agree." He replied, giving her his best 'I'm fully listening' face.

"Number 1: Touch me and you _die_." She deadpanned, punctuating the final word with a stab of her wash bag and a very serious expression.

"Firm but fair." Mulder nodded, making a point of showing her his hands before thrusting them beneath his thighs in mock submission. She gave him a wry smile, briefly taking the time to dump her wash bag and pyjamas in the adjoining bathroom.

"Number 2," She continued, sashaying over to the bed in a manner he was sure was deliberately (and successfully) provocative, "Keep your _crap_ off my side of the room." In one smooth movement, she grasped her edge of the duvet and lifted, forcing all the debris of Mulder's work to topple from her half directly into his lap.

"I'll get onto that right now." He affirmed, noting a hint of a grin cross her face as she let the cover waft back into its natural position.

"Number 3: As of this moment on, I am not Agent Scully: FBI. I am Dana Scully: tired and annoyed." She reiterated, leaning against the wall as she toed her shoes off, "So if I hear a single word related to this case, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Understood?"

"No work talk, gotcha." Mulder confirmed, unceremoniously scooping up his papers and dumping them in the chair she had just vacated. Scully rolled her eyes, but said nothing and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Oh, and number 4," She added, sticking her head through the doorway and indicating towards her travel bag, "No going through my things, and no jibes about my reading material, or you'll be sleeping in the parking lot."

"I would never!" He retorted with mock indignation, "But I can't make any promises about the book thing. Depends what you've got with you."

"Nothing you'd like." Scully scoffed as she shoved the bathroom door shut. The millisecond the lock had clicked, she let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding - they'd got over the first hurdle, she thought. She felt a bit guilty, making Mulder play the part of the untrustworthy cad, but the security that came with authority dampened her nerves about the situation. If she could keep up this show of uninterested peevishness, Scully surmised, they might make it through the night without any noticeable awkwardness.

One thing was for sure: Kroner was a place she would be glad to see the back of.

Mulder was left alone with his thoughts for little over half an hour as Scully got showered, changed and ready for bed. For the first few minutes, he'd just stared at the closed bathroom door imagining what might be happening on the other side: Had she taken her clothes off? Had the glass partition steamed up, obscuring her naked body from view? Was she washing her hair now? Or was she running a soft, soapy sponge over her-

Mulder quickly came to the conclusion that if she came out to find him slack of jaw and tented of pants that tonight might be the night he found out what diseases could be picked up from sleeping in a cheap rental car.

Not to mention the damage it could do to their already suspenseful friendship.

Distracting himself, he forced the cooperating half of his brain to continue working through the intricacies of the case, but the other 50% went rogue and found itself completely dominated by the mystery of Scully's night time literature.

He eyed up her bag a few times, his curiosity burning. He even reached out for it once over, before snatching his hand back and berating himself for even contemplating breaking her trust, however briefly. Luckily, she soon returned, dressed in a thick bathrobe, and put a stop to his inquisitive mind.

"Your go." She said, turning down the covers. Mulder, having discarded his shoes and socks long ago in the name of comfort, began to unbuckle his belt. Scully, fully accustomed to Mulder's complete lack of shame, just threw a disapproving look his way and returned to her task.

"You checking me out, Scully?" He quipped when he caught her slyly casting a glance in his direction. She flushed a little, knowing she'd been caught, but didn't let on. It was safer that way.

"In your dreams." She groaned, sinking into the mattress and allowing her eyes to flutter shut. She missed his sad nod as he made his way to the bathroom door, shutting it behind him with a small click.

Scully sighed with relief – it wasn't that she didn't enjoy Mulder's company, even in this context. In fact, the truth was quite the opposite; sometimes she liked him being around more than she was willing to admit even to herself. He was more than her partner, he was more than her friend... more than her _best_ friend. And sometimes, after a particularly difficult day or one too many glasses of wine, she find herself stuttering on the verge of saying something incredibly truthful (or incredibly stupid, as she saw it after the fact) – the truth that they both knew: they were each other's one in 5 billion.

The real honest fact was that she wasn't really sure where they stood; her sister, Melissa, had once referred to it as 'emotional friends-with-benefits' – technically unattached but still being in a mutual love affair. Scully had denied it at the time, but as the years passed her mind's denunciation had become less and less emphatic.

But sometimes, when he insisted on being so damn incorrigible and she just wanted a little peace and quiet, she could have quite happily duct taped his mouth shut.

Mulder exited the bathroom 20 minutes later and found her curled up on her side reading a paperback. He noted with amusement the strategic placement of the book – at an angle good enough to catch the light but still leaving the title obscured from his view.

He couldn't help but pause in the doorway, allowing himself to take in the rare view of 'Downtime Scully'. The covers had drooped a little around her shoulder, affording him a glimpse of her silky navy pyjamas and a hint of creamy skin at the base of her throat.

Her hair had splayed across the pillow, contrasting beautifully with the white cover – he briefly regretted, for only one of a few handfuls of times in his life, being red-green colourblind; the knowledge he'd never be able to see her as she truly was saddened him in a way he couldn't explain.

One thing he could still appreciate, however, was the captivating blue of her eyes. It amazed him how the shade changed through the course of a day, from piercing, icy blue in anger or fear, to a soft, cornflower hue in sadness, to a bright electric-blue in joy. He couldn't imagine ever meeting someone with more emotive eyes than Scully.

Emotive eyes that were currently staring at him.

"What?" She asked, snapping him from his reverie. He jarred back into movement, embarrassed at being caught in the middle of his little ogling session, and moved to his side of the room.

"Nothing." He smiled, faking nonchalance. Climbing into bed beside her, he tried to think of anything but his current situation. Skinner? No, not distracting enough. Skinner in a blonde wig? Amusing, but still not taking his attention away from the soft heat he could feel radiating from her. Skinner in a blonde wig, pink gingham frock, and army boots? Now it was starting to get too weird. Mulder rolled to face her.

The book! Solving that mystery would be a perfect diversion… for a while anyway. Slowly he sidled up to her back, gently resting his face in the soft curve of her neck in an attempt to get a peek at the text. "Whatcha reading?" He murmured inquisitively.

She angled the book away and sighed.

"Touching, Mulder." She complained, too preoccupied with the feel of his warm breath across her cheek to concentrate on the words anyway.

"Don't you fancy a snuggle?" He replied cheekily.

Yes, she did… she _really_ did. But she wasn't about to tell him that. She didn't want to have to do it, but it was clear to her that drastic action needed to be taken if either of them were going to resist doing something they might regret tonight.

"Right, that's it." She shoved her book under the sheets where he couldn't see it, and reached down for the extra pillows she'd left by the side of the bed as a precaution. Within seconds, she'd shoved him back to his side and erected a soft wall between them.

"Is all this really necessary?" He said incredulously, watching her construction.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Mulder... well, actually, I don't. Not in this context." She recanted, finishing her anti-Mulder fort and flopping back to the mattress with a huff.

"I'm offended." He feigned, copying her movement.

"You've made three lewd jokes in the last hour."

"Okay, okay. No more, scouts honour." He stuck his hand over the pillow wall, making a gesture which ended up looking more like a Vulcan greeting than a scout salute.

"We're just lucky it's not you who's controlling the weather, or it'd be raining condoms right now."

"Now who's making lewd jokes? What's happening in your book?"

"None of your business!"

He peeked slyly over the fort, and began to read.

"'_Armand slipped his hand beneath my waistband, carefully fingering the lace that edged my panties._' That's obscene!"

"Mulder! When I said you could sleep in here that is what I meant. Sleep. At the very best, this… display is a blatant invasion of my privacy, and at worst suggestive of compromising our integrity as partners!" She exaggerated, not even turning to look at him.

"I was just kidding! You know I'd never do anything you didn't want me to… but if there's anything in that book of yours you ever fancy trying-"

She tutted, "You see? That's exactly what I mean!" Scully looked over her shoulder only to find him trying to sneak another peek at the text. "And stop reading my book!"

She slammed it shut, the pretense of being annoyed at him now transformed into _actually_ being annoyed at him, and shoved it in the bedside drawer with a huff.

"Scully?" A quiet voice came a few moments later.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just so wired about this case, and I know you didn't want to talk about it. I thought… if I distracted myself, I might be able to stop thinking long enough to get some sleep." He sounded so regretful that she felt guilty for letting the silly quarrel get so far; her anger had already started to dissipate. "I'm sorry it was at your expense – I really was only, mostly, joking. Thank you for letting me stay with you. I really didn't fancy sleeping in the car."

"It's okay, Mulder. Let's just try to get some rest." She conceded, clicking off the bedside light.

"Goodnight, Dana."

A few hours later, and sleep was still evading her.

How many times had she laid here, just like this, wishing he were here with her? A hundred? A thousand? It seemed pointless to speculate; it was more than she ever say in any case. But now he was here, inches away and just as she'd envisioned night after night, she wasn't sure it was what she wanted.

Oh, of course, him _being there_ was what she wanted, even if she'd take that admission to her grave… it was the _way_ he was there. It was a forced union, a necessity, not the romantic joining she had craved. There was still a gulf between them, both emotionally and physically, that felt like a million miles.

It was agony. Yes, she could reach out, pull him close and bridge that gap, but where would that leave them then? A limbo state of non-existence, where neither was sure of the others intentions and no understandings had been made… just an action with a hazy meaning. At least with their almost-kiss, there had been a conversational build up; the threat of loss and a few tears to bring about a heart stopping crescendo. Or it would have been, if they'd actually got that far.

Did he feel the same as she did? Was lying next to her like this, pining over her emotional distance and her physical closeness, just _barely _preferable to napping on the back seat of the rental car?

If so, would he even want her to touch him here like this? She knew (Oh, God, she knew) that he loved her. It was obvious in every action, every word, every look, and every gesture that passed between them – she hoped he knew the truth in return: that she was as hopelessly lost to it as he was. But feeling an emotion, even one as intense and binding as the love they shared, was very different to expressing it blatantly and clearly, not just catching a half hidden hint casually dropped into the ether.

Mulder could feel her thinking. It was one of the things he had always loved about Scully: her unstoppable mind, her passion, her drive, her boundless work ethic… although he suspected her current musings were little to do with the current case at hand. He deduced, and quite rightly so, that she was agonising over exactly the same things that he had been.

The thunder endured, rumbling across Kroner with an intermittent shuddering growl. The lightning was worse, illuminating the room with a white glow and revealing to him what he had feared; Scully staring blankly at the ceiling tiles, lost in thoughts that had dropped off the edge of the world.

He couldn't keep this up, and he was pretty sure she was gnawing away at herself with these deep thoughts as much as he was. So he did what he always did in these situations, when things got a bit too heavy and the world seemed darker than it had ever been: he turned to humour.

"Fifty bucks says that's Holman." He quipped as another rumble rolled across the Kansas countryside.

"Oh, for the love of God! Go to sleep, Mulder!" Truthfully, she was glad of the distraction; times like these, she relied on his facetious attitude to stop the oppressive feeling of _everything_ getting on top of her.

"If you loved me, you'd listen to my crackpot theories." He grumbled.

"If you loved me, you'd shut your face."

And he did… for a few minutes.

"Scully?"

"Mulder." She deadpanned. Another streak of lightning shot across the sky.

"Do you think Holman is in love with Sheila?"

"I don't know." She replied flatly. "I suppose it's a possibility. Will you go to sleep now please?"

She felt him shift beside her, wriggling around on the mattress like an overgrown grub. The covers were thrown down around his waist, then pulled back up again. His elbows jabbed her through the pillows, and everytime his foot came in contact with hers a bolt of electricity shot up her skin. Finally he stilled, and bobbed his head up over the pillow divider.

"Your leg is on my side of the bed."

Scully spluttered, absolutely incredulous. He ducked back down.

"_Your_ side of the bed? The whole bed is my side of the bed!" She exclaimed, patience quickly waning.

He popped back up again.

"Why is your mattress comfier than mine was?"

"Mulder," She began slowly, squeezing her eyes shut, "Has anyone ever told you that you have a major psychological defect, blinding you to the fact that you're infuriating the **crap **out of people?"

A pause. She felt him looking down at her face over the cushion wall, but she kept her eyes closed tight. The last thing she needed was to see him _gazing_ at her with that stupid, utterly kissable smirk.

"It's been mentioned once or twice… Scu-"

"If you say my name one more time I'm going to strangle you with my dressing gown cord." She said sternly, rolling away.

"Okay… Sweet dreams."

But sweet dreams were still hard to come by with Mulder twitching and wriggling next to her like a puppy having a bad dream. Hovering on the precipice of losing her temper for what felt like the hundredth time that night, he suddenly stilled. Mirroring her position, facing away and as far away from the middle of the bed as he could get, he settled down for what he now knew would be a sleepless night.

How many times had they followed this pattern? How many times had he hid his feelings behind a self-deprecating joke or a dirty one-liner? How many times had she rolled her eyes and made sarcasm her main form of communication? Her exasperation and indignation were as much an armor as his his perverse jibes, and he suddenly realised how exhausting it had all become.

It hadn't always been that way, he recalled wryly, but the closer they became the more they would fight to keep the status quo. He was Mulder, she was Scully… they were partners, it was (mostly) enjoyable. But even still, little truths kept sneaking through the cracks - the long hugs, the gentle admissions, an interrupted kiss… all swept under the rug before they'd even had chance to settle. That Bermuda-Triangle induced 'I love you' had been the icing on top of a very tall cake, and things hadn't been the same since.

He realised they'd both been trying so hard to make their relationship look easy, even to each other, that it had somehow become one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Sharing a bed with the woman you love shouldn't mean two tense people laid so far apart that they're both in danger of dropping off their edge of the mattress.

A change had to be made; they couldn't carry on like this any longer. He decided to be brave.

Scully's heart leapt into her throat as she felt him slowly, delicately, remove the pillow wall, placing the redundant cushions onto the floor. She concentrated on trying to keep her breathing slow and steady; she'd quickly weighed up her options, and come to the conclusion that he would be more likely to reveal his intentions if she continued to feign sleep. This was easier said than done, of course, with her heart hammering at an ever increasing pace as the fort was deconstructed, and her palms sweating beneath her pillow.

The last barrier removed, Scully began to feel apprehensive. Was this where their relationship changed irrevocably? If he pushed for that shift, she knew she couldn't resist acquiescing – God knows she wanted to be more than 'emotional friends with benefits'… possibly even more than he did. But the other side of her, _Agent Scully: Rational and Level-Headed_, told her that no good could come of them giving into their desires – she'd asked him to respect her rules earlier, and she'd meant it. But, as he shuffled closer to her back and she caught the first sensation of his approaching heat, _Dana Scully: In Love and Losing The Will To Fight It _took over control of the last working fragment of her brain.

She'd decided; If he wanted her, she was there for the taking and be damned the rules and the reasons. Scully froze in anticipation as she felt him mould himself to her form, throwing one strong arm over her waist and grasping her hand with a desperation that made her breathless. His face moved, nuzzling her cheek, and surprised her with a quiet whisper.

"I know you're not asleep. What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" She knew exactly what he meant.

"You've been tense all night. I know I'm a pretty crappy houseguest, but I get the impression there's more at play here than my lack of manners. I hate seeing you like this. Please tell me."

"Mulder, I-" She turned in his arms, and her breath caught in her throat. He was right there, a hair's breadth away, and looking at her like she was the only person in the world. Suddenly, her fears and anxieties shied away under the devoted expression her gave her and the soft stroke of fingertips against her face.

"I think sharing a room might be a terrible mistake." She admitted honestly. He smiled gently.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do. I don't know what it is… We've been this close before." She whispered, the quiet of the room now feeling intimate instead of oppressive.

"Things are different now." He stated boldly. She jolted slightly at the bareness of his declaration, before realising this was a discussion they should have had a very long time ago.

"Yes."

Mulder took another emotional leap.

"Because I told you I love you?"

Scully suddenly sat up, leaning on her elbow and furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"... Come again?"

"That's not why you're uncomfortable?" He matched her position again, suddenly petrified he'd misread the entire situation.

"No, I-"

"I thought that you knowing how I felt might be making things a bit tense." He rushed.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Because I didn't tell you to make you feel awkward, Scully. I just wanted you to know. Do you want me to leave? Because I can go-"

"Stop." She ejected, trying to stop his runaway train of thought. Gathering herself with a few deep breaths, she replied softly, "When did you tell me that you love me?"

Suddenly, it was Mulder's turn to be utterly confused.

"In the hospital… when you had to rescue me from the Bermuda Triangle."

Scully quickly thought back to his stay in the hospital - she remembered bringing him his clothes, watching a rerun of Weekend at Bernie's together on that awful tiny TV, sneaking him some contraband food when he couldn't take the hospital slop any longer… she couldn't remember him ever saying-

Wait. When she first visited him, right after he came to, he said… Oh, God. He had said it. And she'd rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Oh, jeez, Mulder! I thought you were off your face on meds." She exclaimed, feeling irrevocably guilty about her cruel dismissal. She added gently, "I didn't know you meant that."

He nodded sadly, feeling a tad better about the situation now - at least she'd thought he was just high as a kite. At the time, her walking away felt like a dagger to his already bruised heart.

"Hey, it was terrible timing… I can't blame you for not taking me seriously." He used the arm that wasn't propping himself up to give her a quick squeeze, trying to alleviate some of the metaphorical self-flagellation her teeth were currently taking out on her lower lip. "So what _is _wrong then?"

He offered something to her tonight… something he couldn't take back even if he wanted to. She decided he deserved the same in return.

"This dance we're doing… I hate it. I miss what we had before things started getting so… complicated." She explained in a rush. "I miss you."

"You'd rather me not have these feelings-"

"No, it's not that at all. I just wish the feelings _we _have," She put special emphasis on the 'we' as she reached out to take hold on his hand, "didn't have to make things hard between us."

They sat silently for a few minutes, going over what had just been said in their memories. When she finally moved to lie back down, he snuck an arm beneath her and pulled her securely into his side. They had talked about their feelings… the world hadn't ended. They revelled in their newfound comfort, however slight it may have been. A weight had lifted, and an ache had been soothed.

She tipped her head to look towards him.

"So what do we do now?" She asked quietly.

"The way I see it, we have two options: carry on like we have been doing, pretending that our feelings don't exist and pretending that it isn't eating us both up inside." They both grimaced at this suggestion.

"Or?"

"Or we just accept it. No big declarations, no rushing into ripping each other's clothes off… although hopefully that might come later." He quipped, before adding seriously, "Just accept that I love you and you love me, and leave it at that for the time being. Wait… you _do _love me, right?"

She laughed at his sudden insecurity.

"Yes, Mulder, I do."

"Good, worried myself there for a second."

Silence hovered between them, but this time is was companionable and soothing. The thunder and lightning had dispersed, and the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.

"You're right." Scully conceded, reaching up to run her fingers across his cheek with a boldness she hadn't realised she possessed. "And this definitely isn't the time or place for ripping each others clothes off… I dread to think what's on this bedspread."

"Well, I'm definitely not horny now."

"Good. Save it for another time."

A quiet spell fell again. The morning began to cast a pale glow against the thin curtains.

"Can I make one request?" He murmured on the edge of sleep. She nodded. "Promise me this isn't just a dream?"

"It's real, I promise."

They slept.

Dana Scully had come to accept that some of the cases she worked could be a little more outlandish than others. Aliens: yes, she could concede that there was a possibility that they existed and perhaps even walked among us. The Flukeman: clearly a radioactive mutant on the lamb. Even a man controlling the weather: It just barely hovered on the edges of believability, in an X-Men/Late-night-sci-fi-movie sort of way.

But this was the case she never thought she'd see solved - how to regain a contentment neither of them thought they'd ever quite feel again. As it turns out, it was easy… all it needed was an enormous amount of bravery, a tricky discussion about their feelings, and a flying cow.

They were in love, and that was enough for now. Perhaps one day they'd make another baby step forwards. Maybe the world wouldn't end and the sun would rise again, and then they might make another, she thought happily.

Just not today.

* * *

Equally Tedious Postscript

If you've made it this far, congratulations! You've reached the end of my inane ramblings. It was slightly longer than I anticipated.

Was it worth coming back to? Let me know what you thought.


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